So, it’s been a minute. I haven’t blogged in close to three years. One could say I took a creative hiatus, uninspired and languishing in a pile of crumpled up paper, but that’d be a load of crap. I stopped blogging because shit got real. I had one tiny human the last time I sat down to write anything (you remember Baby Danger, yes?), and then out of the blue, Bam! I had another one – Lady Danger.
That’s actually only half-true, too. She didn’t appear out of nowhere – it took 39 weeks to grow a healthy Lady Danger, but I was so damn tired during the whole pregnancy (and sick – because Baby Danger turned into a tiny host monkey once pre-school started) that I never felt funny enough to write. And honestly, what could I have told you? “Fell asleep at 9 pm, in my pregnancy pants… on a toddler bed with a kid who moves like a drunk octopus looking for a pen… while cuddling Manolito the moose doll.” I mean, I could barely find the energy to trim my walrus mustache shower at the end of the night, let alone make time to tell y’all about the miracle of life I was growing.
Sidenote: And what a miracle she is. I mean, it’s not for nothing, but this kid is so sweet and C.U.T.E.A.F. She’s also feisty, often forced to fight off her big brother as he lays claim to all his toys and anything she breathes on… and she can throw down an entire veggie burger at nine months old. Truly impressive.
Back to my excuses reasons… the bottom line is that I started putting the daily grind above anything I liked doing for myself. I was focused on trying to learn it all – balance home ownership and all that entails (the laundry doesn’t just do itself, people, and apparently the gutters are not self-cleaning), being present with my family and not multi-tasking (still suck at this), working outside the home (also probably suck at this), and all the other adult stuff my parents did before me without complaint; in doing all the adulting, I gained the ability to really focus on one day at a time (with a checklist), but I also allowed myself to get buried in the details. I lost the “one day is one day” mentality of living in the moment.
I will probably continue to struggle with balance (because who doesn’t), but at least I can get back to writing, which is something I’m decent at (maybe not grammatically decent – I just ended that sentence with a preposition). And I can give this tired blog a visual facelift. Yeah, it will probably be more about parenting, less about my cat (yes, singular… sadly our Russian spy ate a large chunk of honey ham from Baby Danger’s second birthday brunch and went over the Rainbow Bridge), but maybe that’s not a bad thing because parenting is hilarious, y’all. It’s probably even funnier when you’re not the one actually changing the diapers.
The Fifth Beatle… he was asked to leave after farting on John’s lap…
I’m going to be honest. I find writing the title of this blog as weird as you must find reading it. But I’m not sure what else to do, so an open letter to my cat sounds like the logical next step at this point. I know what you’re thinking – she’s insane he has no thumbs. How is he going to access this blog? And you’d be right. Except he knows how to use my Ipad for Cat Fishing, so why not general reading? (I feel the need to clarify that there is a Friskies game for cats on the Ipad, and that Hey Jude does not actually catphish, awesome as that may be).
As you may recall, I blogged about my other cat (Penny Lane, the Russian spy), a few months ago. Noticing a pattern? Thatimacrazycatlady? There’s that. Or the more obvious fact – our cats are named after Beatles songs… and what is weirder than a cat named Penny Lane? A cat named Hey Jude. All because Carlos Danger (I’m trying out a new nickname for my live-in Quixote, courtesy of Anthony Weiner) is a Beatles fanatic. It’s also great because it already has the greeting built in. And I dare you to meet someone named Jude and NOT say “Hey, Jude”. Dare. You.
So before I begin my letter, I think it necessary to give you a little background. This is the most handsome cat you’ll ever meet. I’m not even joking. His big blue eyes have a Frank Sinatra meet Gollum-esque quality, although lucky for us, he hasn’t started twirling a ring to rule us all around his tiny cat claw yet.
We’re also pretty sure he’s a very needy Chihuahua in a cat suit and not a cat at all. I was initially told that his breed (which they call Snowshoe to be fancy-pants), requires a lot of attention and love. This seemed like a win-win for us, because Penny Lane hated me at the time and was plotting my demise. I desperately wanted a cat who loved me and I thought he’d wear her down – you know, break her little Russian spy spirit.
Hey Jude, screaming. Punk parents giving him what he wants to shut him up. Penny Lane looks on in disdain.
His neediness has surpassed my wildest cat dreams and is now bordering on LiLo-esque attempts at attention. He screams at all of us. All. Damn. Day. For food. For love. For fun. I’m convinced he’d pull a Naomi Campbell on us, if he could grasp something in his paw to hurl across the room. In a lazy attempt at parenting my cat, I’m hoping this open letter will make him see the light. I’m going to make a great parent one day.
Yah, he really tried to shut me up.
Dear Hey Jude,
It’s me. Your human. Not the one who doesn’t enjoy you pouncing on him because someone points a laser mouse above his head while he sleeps. The other human who actually points the laser. The one who dressed you as a bumblebee for Halloween. We have to talk about some recent etiquette transgressions committed by vous, darling.
Farting on Ladies
Don’t act shocked. We all fart. I don’t take issue with this. I do, however, disagree with farting on our neighbors when they come over to feed you while we’re away. It’s in poor taste to jump on a lady’s lap, look directly at her, fart and then hop down because, well, “fire in the hole”. Not cool, little man.
Urinating on the Bathroom Rug
I’m not sure why you do this so frequently. If Penny Lane can suck it up and use one of two litter boxes, surely you can. Is this because everyone thinks you’re a female cat? They can’t help it, love muppet. You’re just so handsome – you’re the Paul Newman of cats. Remember, take a sad song and make it better. So, please stop urinating on the bathroom rug… and P.S. it would also be awesome if you stopped pulling down the towels to do the same. That was an unpleasant way to dry my face last weekend.
Claw Sharpening on Wood Furniture
I mean, seriously… what the crap? What are you, a tiger? You have several scratching posts at your disposal. Also, do you have a secret wheel to sharpen your claws while we’re gone? They look like razor clams coming out of your teeny tiny cat paws.
Shadoobing on the Bed/Me/Anywhere but your Box
Ok, this was kind of a big one. Mostly because we were still in the bed when it happened. I’d really appreciate you taking your passive-aggressiveness out on someone else if you find the litter box not up to snuff (in this case, the bathroom rug would be preferable). Also, I should take this opportunity to thank you for not sharting on me since that first vet visit three years ago. Remember when the vet said he’d never seen such a tiny animal shart on a human with such vigor? And then he gave me dog shampoo to put down my bra to help with the smell til I got home? Because I remember that.
Your kitten breath
I can always tell when you’ve cleaned the top of Penny’s head. Because it smells like a troll. Smelly cat, smelly cat. What are we feeding you?
Photobombing
Okay, this one didn’t come from me so much as it did your sister. She’s asked that you stop usurping her life moments. Case in point below.
With all this said, it’s important to note that we also love you. We I love that you wake us up every morning and that you walk horizontally across the bed if you feel we’ve been sleeping too long. You dip your paw in my water glass to drink, you sleep in a tent every night, and you learned how to fetch your toy mouse. Until you realized it would be more fun to watch me throw it and then pick it up myself. Hey Jude 1, Human 0.
You, sir, are the best chihuahua in a cat suit a girl could want. With that said, if you could stop crapping on our linens, that would be wicked awesome. Nah nah nah nah. Nah nah nah nah.
Love,
Your human whose hair you enjoy pulling and the one who made you think “que te calles” was your real name
I have a confession. Assuming the Mayan Prophecy was true, I didn’t plan on any blogs for 2013; and since I refuse to blog on that poor Kardashian fetus or Taylor Swift’s inability to hold down a relationship with a sixteen year old, I have slim pickings to write about now. “Why?”, you may ask? Well, chick-a-dees, I’ve spent the last month or so in a Spanish cured-porcine induced haze that has dulled my mind and left me out of the loop on pop-culture in the old red, white and blue. Now, if you were to ask me who Cayetano Rivera (bull-fighter/model/cat-lover) is dating, I could tell you he’s with Eva what’s-her-face, ex-girlfriend of Iker Casillas (patron saint of Mostoles), but you’re not going to ask me that, are you? Even so, I feel the need to insert pictures of Cayetano here:
So this has nothing to do with my post; I just feel the need to introduce him to you all because, ladies and gents, this is the Iberian man at his finest. Speaking of cat eyes, I’d also like to introduce you this month to someone who I now believe to be the littlest, furriest double agent of the GRU (Russia’s version of the CIA) – my cat, Penny Lane.
Penny came to us under circumstances not unlike those in the movie SALT. Remember when Angelina Jolie’s character is implanted in the United States (under a false identity) as the orphaned child of an American couple that died in Russia? She is raised in the US, where she awaits the sign from her Soviet mentor to take down the U.S. government? I BELIEVE THIS MY CAT.
Before you accuse me of being drunk paranoid, hear me out. We got Penny shortly after our kitten, Margarito Seis Dedos, passed away. I was so grief-stricken at this loss and Carlos so truly panicked at my inability to pull myself together that he and my mother researched new kittens pronto. Carlos answered a Craig’s list ad about kittens, arranged to visit and pick one out, and then agreed to come back the following week on her six week “birthday”. The following Friday, Carlos went to pick up this sweet kitten, and upon arrival, the owners mentioned that said gentle kitten had fallen ill. Not wanting me to go through another heartache, they offered up a sister-kitten from the same litter (allegedly), a little gray and brown tabby. Carlos agreed, and they waved the $25 dollar fee because we seemed like good people who would not to feed this kitten to a python (I know, what?!?!).
So let’s re-cap – Craig’s list ad, bait and switch tactic, $25 fee waved. Something was wrong with this cat, and we ignored all the signs. I was so desperate for the love of a kitten, I totally ignored the fact that she may have been implanted here by the Russians. There were red flags (pun intended) everywhere that I chose to ignore – she often slept on my neck as a kitten (probably to test the pressure needed to snap it), followed our guests to the bathroom and tried to swipe at them as they did their business (dirty reconnaissance), and frequently hid in our fridge (presumably to poison our food). She was constantly looking for our weaknesses.
And you thought I was kidding…
I think my spider senses confirmed that my cat was, in fact, a trained killer the day my mother tried to discipline her. After Penny tried to attack her, I sat back (amused) as my mom, a long-time owner of normal cats, tried her hand at showing Penny who was boss – holding her by the scruff of the neck like only a mother-cat could. Instead of becoming submissive, our little minion contorted her body in Exorcist-like fashion, whipped around and tried to bite, all while speaking what I can only assume to be fluent Russian. My mom, not knowing what to do, tossed the cat and ran to the door, mentioning something about waiting for me in the car. Why didn’t this disciplinary tactic work, you may ask? It’s simple. Penny was cloned in a former Soviet laboratory – she never had a mother.
So you can imagine what a challenge it’s been trying to incorporate a tiny trained killer into a normal Spanish-American family (for the record, I believe Carlos’s “Spanish-ness” is the sole reason she tolerates him; that and his magnificent guitar playing.) We’ve made some significant progress with Penny over the past three years, but every now and again, I can see her acute, lethal training come through. For example:
1. She has destroyed over 150 Canadian dollars worth of Apple product chargers and earphones. The motive? Apart from her abhorrence for our capitalist consumer tendencies, P.L. is (I believe) trying to cut off our communication from the outside world.
2. She has chewed through three computer chargers, several computer mice, our internet modem cable, and numerous wires related to TV, DVD, and speakers. ALL WITHOUT EVER BEING SHOCKED. How is this possible, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. She’s a trained killer and electronics expert, that’s how. And don’t let the mouse part fool you; she’s trying to incercept messages and again cut off our communication with the outside world. I also think she’s trying to sabotage my professional career by limiting my ability to work from home.
3. She sleeps with one eye open.
4. She spends hours watching pigeons from our windows. I can only assume she’s waiting for one with a message from the Motherland.
5. She recently slept ON TOP OF MY ALARM, causing me to wake up late for work. Her little cat FUPA acted as a noise-cancelling headphone, rendering my duck alarm useless. Why? She’s clearly trying to get me fired while testing out her ability to muffle my screams when the time comes.
6. She has intimidated at least two male dogs that have come into our home, causing one to pee, the other to sit in a corner curled up in a fetal position.
7. Upon being spayed, she ripped open the stitches in her abdomen on the first night, presumably to make sure no tracking devices were implanted. This led to a restitching and the wearing of a cone of shame for several weeks, affecting not only her mobility but her psyche.
Despite these setbacks, we’ve found ways to normalize her interactions with most humans. Most notably, the incorporation of Hey Jude has forced her to stop being such a frigid bitch. Jude is rivaled only by MinPins in his need for constant attention, and since Carlos and I both work, Penny is often tasked with satiating his appetite for affection. This seems to have had a calming effect on her in that she is so exhausted by Jude, she has no time to plot our demise or wait impatiently for carrier pigeons.
In fact, she’s even helpful around the house – balancing the checkbook and answering emails on days I work from home, just to avoid entertaining him. It takes her twice as long without the opposable thumbs, but I’m grateful for the help. When we are home on the weekends, she enjoys a break and catches up on her reading (Tolstoy and the Harry Potter series) and watching period pieces starring Keira Knightley, bull-fights, and old Star Trek re-runs.
Whatever he’s selling, she’s not buying it.
Carlos and I have also learned that, like most double agents, Penny can be bribed. Her price? Brown Sugar Ham, Greek yogurt (preferably passion fruit), or a sweet serenade from Señor Don Gato (spy-name for Carlos). She can pretty much be found under-foot anytime the fridge opens, and trusting no one, only drinks water directly from the bathroom sink.
It’s taken a lot of time and patience, but I think we’ve finally reached a détenteand (dare I say?) grown in affection for one another. I truly believe she’ll take a moment to reflect when she receives the sign to begin the takedown (if only because her Russian mentor may not keep a constant supply of yogurt and ham readily available). She is, by far, the cutest spy since the Mata Hari and the furriest since Garbo, and while her loyalty is questionable, I have no doubt she’d shank anyone who breaks in and tries to hurt her family… or steal her ham.
onedayisoneday 